


cat got your tongue?

by alotofthingsdifferent



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Curses, Ghosts, Haunted House, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-08-28 06:07:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8434549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alotofthingsdifferent/pseuds/alotofthingsdifferent
Summary: Scary is not Braden’s thing, it never has been, and he doesn't understand what joy anyone could possibly get from having someone jump out and startle the bejeezus out of them. 
Braden’s half dressed and trying to find his pre-skate chill, and he is absolutely not interested in haunted houses.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ferritin4](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ferritin4/gifts).



Sometimes, when Nate turns his big blue eyes on Braden and gives him that patented Nate Schmidt smile -- that innocent, easy grin that Braden has to admit (to himself, anyway) makes him go a little weak in the knees -- sometimes, he wonders if the innocence is all a farce and Nate knows _exactly_ what he’s doing. 

Like now, standing in front of Braden’s stall with a neon orange flyer in his hands, _Face Your Fears_ emblazoned across the top in bold black letters that look like they’re supposed to be dripping blood or something. Scary is not Braden’s thing, it never has been, and he doesn't understand what joy anyone could possibly get from having someone jump out and startle the bejeezus out of them. 

Braden’s half dressed and trying to find his pre-skate chill, and he is absolutely not interested in haunted houses.

“C’mon,” Nate whines, kicking at Braden’s ankle. “It can’t be _that_ bad, and it says right here nothing like, jumps out at you.” He points to a line of fine print on the flyer, tapping his finger against it. 

That doesn’t make Braden feel any better, but he’s not going to admit that to Nate.

“Take Carly,” he says instead, pulling his chest protector over his head. “Seems like that’d be right up his alley.”

Nate rolls his eyes and sighs dramatically. It’s very Nate-like, and Braden has to bite his cheek to hide his smile. “Carly’s busy. Besides, I wanna go with _you_.”

He makes the mistake of looking up, meeting Nate’s eyes, and Braden might not be interested in haunted house, but he’s definitely interested in spending time with Nate.

Nate gives a little whoop when Braden mumbles his agreement to go. 

Then he winks.

Yeah, Braden thinks, realizing that Nate just got him again. He knows _exactly_ what he’s doing.

**

“You ready for this?” Nate asks, elbowing Braden in the side. He’s bouncing on the balls of his feet, all smiles as he hands over a handful of bills to the guy sitting in an old rocking chair outside the house. He’s rocking slowly, a blank stare on his face as waves the two of them towards the door. Braden can hear the low _creeeeak creeeeak_ of the chair even after Nate’s closed the door behind them. 

It gives Braden the creeps. That’s the whole point, he supposes, but no one said he had to like it.

“This is so cool,” Nate says in a loud whisper. A cool burst of air hits Braden from behind, and he shivers a little, shoving his hands into his coat pockets and looking over his shoulder. He doesn’t see a fan or anything, and the windows are closed tight, but the breeze was likely a well-orchestrated special effect intended to send shivers down someone’s spine. Braden’s not falling for it. 

The floorboards groan beneath their feet as they walk, elbow to elbow, and for awhile, Braden wonders why they paid $25 a head to walk through an old, abandoned house. As far as he can tell, there’s no fake blood on the walls; there’s a distinct lack of scary music playing, no screaming sound effects or fake spiders dangling from the ceiling. The cobweb that just got tangled in his fingers as he he followed Nate up the rickety staircase seems pretty real, but beyond that, nothing Braden’s seen so far would lead him to believe this was anything more than the scary house on the block that all the kids avoid on Halloween.

(There’s not even a fog machine. Braden thinks they’ve been duped.)

They wander down one long hallway, peering into empty rooms and checking out the old, faded family photos that hang on the walls, all covered in a fine layer of dust. Braden’s about to tell Nate they should ask for a refund when he swears he hears someone whisper his name, loud enough that whoever it was could have been standing right next to him, their mouth close to Braden’s ear. Goosebumps bloom on his arms, a shiver running through him, and he turns over his shoulder to snap at Nate, “Don’t do that.”

Except Nate isn’t right next to him like Braden expected him to be. He’s near the end of the hallway, standing stock still in front of an open door, his mouth half-open. 

Ok, so maybe Braden won’t ask for their money back after all, he thinks as he hurries down the hall to where Nate’s standing. “Look at that, dude,” Nate says quietly. “Fuckin’ creepy.”

Where other rooms had been empty, this room looks lived in, if years ago. The paint on the walls is peeling and cracking, whole patches missing in some spots, and in the dim light, it gives off the appearance of veins crawling beneath thin, dry skin. There’s an old wooden chair in the corner, a teddy bear with mottled fur and one eye sitting in it, and Braden doesn’t believe in ghosts, but he believes in demon stuffed animals that come alive at night, and that thing has definitely terrorized one or more people in its lifetime, he thinks. 

The twin mattress in the middle of the room is stripped bare, resting on a metal bed frame that Braden imagines would make a sickening scrape if it were dragged across the wood floor. He waits, staring at it, for some phantom force to do just that, an invisible wire attached to some kid hiding in a closet, but nothing happens. It’s just a bed in a room with a creepy killer teddy bear, nothing else to see here. 

_Braden_ he hears again, quieter this time, like a voice carried on the wind, barely audible. It’s when he feels a cool gust of air on the back of his neck, featherlight, like fingertips touching his skin, that he grabs Nate’s wrist without thinking and squeezes hard.

“Woah,” Nate says, his eyes wide. “Dude, did you feel that?” Braden swallows hard and nods, dropping his grip on Nate quickly, trying to ignore the way his heart is pounding. 

“Hidden fans,” he says, somehow managing to keep his voice from cracking. “Cool trick.”

“Are you sca--”

Nate’s question is interrupted by the high-pitched squeak of a door opening, and they both turn around slowly, frozen in place as the door across the hall opens to reveal a woman in a long white gown.

She’s ghostly pale, her skin almost translucent, and her dark, scraggly hair hangs in her face. Her arms hang at her sides, thin and fragile, and Braden feels like his feet are stapled to the floor. In his head, he knows it is, this is the _point_ of these stupid haunted houses, to make people think they’re about to be murdered by some ghostly figure in a long white dress, and yet he’s frozen in place, holding his breath. Nate is a solid weight next to him, the backs of their hands touching. Neither one of them are move as the woman raises her bony hand, shaking slightly, and points one sharp finger at Braden.

“Braden,” she whispers, and he hears Nate breathe “fuck” from somewhere next to him. He feels like he’s floating now, and if he could move, if he could _speak_ , he’d accuse Nate of setting this whole thing up to try to scare him. It’s working, he thinks, it’s working, you asshole, you can stop now, and then he’s cold all over, feeling like he’s had the wind knocked out of him by a punch to the gut. He gasps for air and stumbles backwards, hitting the wall behind him with a loud thud.

The woman is talking, mumbling under her breath, and Braden strains to hear her, to understand whatever words are falling from her mouth. He can’t understand her, she can’t be speaking English, and he’s so _cold_.

“Face your fears,” the woman whispers, a hissing sound so loud in his ears that he can’t believe she’s still across the hall and not right next to him. He wonders, a little hysterically, if Nate heard that or if he’s losing his mind, if he’s gotten caught up in the hype of Halloween and hauntings and ghost stories. 

And then the door slams shut and everything is deathly quiet. Warmth seeps back into Braden’s body, starting at his head and moving downward, melting his frozen limbs. 

“Holy _shit_ ,” Nate says. “Holy shit, Holts, are you ok? What the fuck _was_ that?”

Braden opens his mouth to say _yeah, Nate, I’m fine, let's get the hell out of here_ but nothing comes out. He swallows, clears his throat, and tries again, but still, he can’t find his voice. 

He touches his fingers to his neck, brushes them over his Adam’s apple and presses , makes himself choke a little and coughs into his hand. Nate’s staring at him, his skin pale in the faded hallway light. 

He looks like he’s seen a ghost.

Braden clears his throat again and rolls his eyes, pushing off from the wall and stalking down the hall towards the stairs. He’s gotta get out of here, he needs some fresh air, and Nate is on his heels, his hand hot on Braden’s lower back even through his coat. “Wait for me!” he says with a nervous laugh, and they take the stairs down two at a time, hurrying past a couple that’s just arrived and pushing out the front door.

He swears he hears a whispered _Braden_ again when they pass the kid on the porch, but he ignores it, telling himself it’s just his imagination as the scramble into the car. Nate fumbles with the keys, laughing to cover the way his hands are shaking, but when he turns the key, the car doesn’t start. It gives a feeble attempt, the engine groaning a few times, but after that, the only thing Braden can hear is the quiet “click” of Nate turning the ignition over and over and over.

“What the fuck,” Nate says with a huff, sitting back in his seat and turning to look at Braden. “What the fuck, Holts, this is fucking freaking me out.”

Braden wants to answer. He wants to tell Nate he’s scared too, that he has no idea what the hell just happened in there, that he has no clue why the car won’t start, but he can’t find his voice. It feels like it’s been sucked out of him. Stolen.

He rolls his eyes in frustration and presses his forehead to the passenger side window. The house is staring back at him, and his eyes are drawn to a flicker of light in one of the upstairs windows. He squints, his heart pounding.

“Hey,” Nate says quietly. “It’s not real, right? None of that was real, it was just -- it was _supposed_ to be scary.”

Braden doesn’t answer. Can’t.

“Holts,” Nate says. “Braden, are you -- I’m sorry man, I’m sorry I made you come. I didn’t think it’d be like that, I know you hate shit like this.” There’s a figure standing in the window, the shadow of a woman. “Are you -- are you mad at me?” 

_Face your fears_ , Braden hears. _Braden_ he hears, and the woman vanishes. 

Nate’s gone silent in the seat next to him, and when Braden turns towards him, he’s hanging his head, picking at his nails.

“Nate,” he says in his head. “Nate, look at me, I’m not mad, I’m --”

_Scared_ , his brain helpfully supplies. He studies Nate’s profile, the way his teeth are sunk into his lower lip, worrying the skin. _Face your fears_ , he thinks, and fuck it. 

Fuck it.

He touches Nate’s elbow, slides his palm up over the curve of Nate’s bicep to settle his hand over the dip of Nate’s collarbone. Nate sucks in a breath, Braden can feel it, and looks at Braden with wide, blue eyes. 

Braden tugs, the slightly bit of pressure on Nate’s skin, and then they’re both leaning in, kissing like they’re starved for it. Braden tangles his fingers in the collar of Nate’s shirt, tightens his grip and hauls Nate closer, closes his eyes and lets himself take what he’s been afraid to ask for for so long.

When they break apart, Nate buries his face in the crook of Braden’s neck, the curve of his smile warm on Braden’s skin. He touches his lips to Braden’s throat, and Braden goes hot all over, choking out a gasp of air that makes Nate pull back quickly, looking at him with raised eyebrows. 

“You good?” Nate asks, hesitant, and Braden nods, allowing himself to smile. It feels good. (Even better when Nate smiles back).

“I’m not mad at you,” Braden says, and there it is, _there’s _his voice. “And I, uh. I came because I wanted to. Not for the haunted house, I mean, but just. For you. To be with you.”__

__“Yeah?” Nate asks, his smile widening, and Braden nods, the back of his neck going hot. “That’s why I came too.”_ _

__“You couldn’t have just asked me to a movie like a normal person?” Braden teases, rolling his eyes playfully._ _

__“Brooksie suggested a haunted house so I could hold your hand if you got too scared,” Nate says, and it should sound so stupid, Braden thinks, but Nate looks so earnest and sweet that it’s nothing but endearing._ _

__“Stop taking dating advice from hockey players,” Braden says, and Nate laughs, his eyes dancing._ _

__“Hey, it worked, didn’t it?” he asks, waggling his eyebrows. For a second Braden starts to think maybe all of it _was_ in his head, the whispers and the chills and the whole “oh my god, what happened to my voice” thing. Maybe Nate _did_ orchestrate this whole thing, maybe --_ _

___Braden_ he hears in his ears again, that familiar, bone-chilling whisper, and he reaches over Nate’s lap as quickly as he can and turns the ignition. The engine revs to life, and Braden watches the house--and his fears--disappear in the rear view._ _


End file.
